


"Again, Morse?"

by notjustmom



Series: Endeavour [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen, Max DeBryn and Endeavour Morse friendship, Morse Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A bit of Max and Morse...
Relationships: Max DeBryn & Endeavour Morse
Series: Endeavour [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863769
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	"Again, Morse?"

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching Morse since the beginning, and love the cranky misanthrope, especially since we've had Shaun Evans' interpretation for now seven seasons. Since I'm in the States I have to wait a few more days for the first episode of season seven.

"Again, Morse?" Max sniffed then poured out a medicinal double and handed it to his friend, the unspoken implication was that after over twenty years, perhaps Morse should be thinking about a desk job, but he knew his friend would never sit behind a desk, as the powers that be had been trying to get rid of him since day one, and he wouldn't accept the job if offered, not at this late date.

"Just get on with it, Max," Morse grumbled as he accepted the cheap plastic tumbler that Max kept handy for times like these.

"I don't suppose you remember the first time I stitched you up?" Max said, then hummed as he noted the location of the injury. "Got stabbed while running through the basement of the Bodleian, as I recall -" Morse groaned as he put down his empty cup, and hissed as Max numbed the area around the jagged gash. "You are learning, a nice jagged edge, won't take so long to heal this time, good to know you listen on occasion."

"I always listen to you, DeBryn."

"Do you, now?" Max chuckled and watched as his old friend's face seemed to lose two decades for a moment, and he was transported to the first time he laid eyes on the younger man. A suicide that wasn't, it turned out in the end, but it didn't matter to Morse who had no intention of getting within ten meters of the body. Still squeamish, even now, though he only fainted the once, and he had been tested over the years, Max had to admit to himself with a grin.

"What're you grinning at, you ghoul?" Morse growled impatiently, but Max detected a slight twinkle in his friend's blue eyes.

"That first autopsy, you and ol' Thursday, he caught you just before you hit the deck. At the time, I didn't think I was being gratuitously grotesque, but looking back -" Morse looked down and as he watched his friend's chubby, yet still dextrous fingers sew him back together, he realized he had never trusted anyone as much as he trusted Max.

After the gauze was applied and taped, he cleared his throat and rasped out, "You were just doing your job, Max."

"I could've been more gentle with you on your first," He muttered as he washed, then dried his hands thoughtfully.

"I would've ended up on the floor regardless, and you know it."

"I imagine so." He turned and studied Morse's profile, and wondered what might have been, if they hadn't both been set on their paths long before they had met. He had a few acquaintances, but few people he could claim as friend, and he wondered at the fact that Morse would be the one who would probably miss him most when he was gone. Both lonelier than they should have been, and yet, there was a certain companionship in that, wasn't there? He walked over to a cupboard where he kept the odd shirt for occasions such as these, and pulled one out for Morse, then walked back over to where his friend was still sitting, lost in his thoughts.

"Proverbial penny for the odd thought," He murmured as he placed the still cellophaned shirt next to Morse, then turned away to give him privacy.

"That's about what my odd thought is worth these days," Morse returned with a grunt. "I've got a good bottle I've been saving for some reason, seems a shame to drink it on my own."

Max nodded and after a couple of minutes, finally turned around again and waving Morse's trembling hands away, finished buttoning the shirt for him. "I am always willing to drink your scotch, Morse." What went left unsaid as he helped him down from the metal table were the words they could never say even now, after all this time. Yet they both knew Max would drive him home, where they'd drink far too much of the good bottle, trade a story or two, and though Morse would try to convince him he was fine on his own, Max would sleep on the couch for the next couple of days, just in case.


End file.
